


Release

by starksborn



Series: The Curse that Falls on Young Lovers [4]
Category: Saints Row
Genre: Angst, Friendship/Love, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-27 09:20:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5042746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starksborn/pseuds/starksborn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Boss is determined to bottle up their feelings and ignore the emotional fallout of Johnny's death, and the consequences seep through in self destructive ways. Angel's determined to make them see reason.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Release

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly lost count of how many times I deleted this entirely and restarted it and how many bits got changed and deleted, and I finally got so fed up I didn't lay eyes on this for like two months. But! Finally I got another piece finished, and there's some actual developments in this relationship. Also it clocks out at ten pages, so there's that.

 

     The Boss has been slow all morning. Angel noticed it as soon as they walked in the door, from their one word replies to him to their sloppy form during the warm up. He wonders briefly if they're still overworking themself but shakes it off to focus on the task at hand. He's told them multiple times to chill out, and even given them some days off to catch up. He understands how much stress they're under, but at the same time his patience is beginning to run thin. The closer it gets to Murderbrawl, the more wound up he feels, and if they can't do better at managing their time, that's not his problem.  
His only concern is making sure they're both ready for Murderbrawl, and that's all he can think about once the two get sparring. He figures the Boss will catch up to him eventually, shake off the early morning sluggishness and stop pulling their punches. He's not paying attention to how slow the Boss is reacting, and he's assuming they'll snap out of it and that's how he ends up delivering a solid blow from his elbow right to their nose.  
     He's expecting them to counter it knowing full well he left them enough of a chance to do it, and the Boss raises one arm as if to do so, but the movement is lagging and not quick enough. Angel's not holding back and he can feel from the impact that he just broke their nose. The Boss stumbles a little and their nose starts bleeding immediately, dropping hot blood all over the floor and the sleeve of Angel's hoodie. He swears a little and turns, reaching for a towel hanging off one of the old poker tables. When he turns back around, he stops, furrowing his brows and looking at the Boss. They're just standing there, holding one hand out and looking down at it, watching blood drip onto it and seep between their fingers to the floor. They don't even seem to be reacting to the injury with any kind of urgency.  
     Angel takes a few steps closer, reaching forward and putting two fingers under their chin to tilt their head back. They drop their hand by their side and stare up at the ceiling as he gingerly presses the towel to their face. Silence passes between the two of them for a moment before he says anything.  
     "Are you okay?" The Boss doesn't respond, just gives a shrug of their shoulders and reaches up to hold the towel. Angel drops his hand from their face and steps back.  
     "I think you broke my nose," they say, voice muffled by the towel.  
     "I know I did," Angel says. "You could have blocked that."  
     "Yeah, I meant to," is all the Boss says. Angel makes a _tsk_ noise and puts his hands on his hips.  
     "If this is the best you can do we might as well skip Murderbrawl entirely," he says. The Boss rolls their eyes and drops the towel from their face, glaring at him while their nose drips more blood down their face.  
     "I'm not having this fucking argument with you again," they say. "I told you I'm gonna get Killbane and I'm gonna!"  
     "That's not entirely--" Angel stops and then sighs, running a hand down his face and pinching the bridge of his nose. "If you end up getting yourself killed before this is all finished, what do you think is going to happen to the Saints?" The Boss opens their mouth to respond, and Angel cuts them off.  
     "And I don't just mean Killbane," he says. "You've still got the Deckers to deal with, and STAG. Killbane's just one piece of this shit puzzle, you've still got a lot to handle, and you've said this yourself already."  
     "Then I'll fucking handle it!" The Boss doesn't realize how loud they're yelling at first, not until Angel's eyes widen and he takes a step back. When their voice catches up to them, they just let out an annoyed sigh and throw the towel down.  
     It's time like this that Johnny's absence becomes most palpable. Killbane may just be one piece of the puzzle, but he's a big one. He needs to be dealt with, and the Boss can't help but feel like if Johnny were still here, he would have been by now. If Johnny was alive, the Deckers would have been dealt with too. Hell, they'd probably be halfway through a plan for eliminating STAG on top of it all. The Saints would be running Steelport and partying, not fighting in the streets and dying in droves.  
     Truthfully, Johnny always was better at this. The Boss was the one in charge, but Johnny was the one with the ideas. The Boss just made sure the rest of the gang enforced those ideas.  
_He should have been in charge_ , they think. _We never would have ended up in that fucking bank._  
     A hand on their shoulder brings them back to reality, and away from thoughts of Johnny.  
     There's a softness to Angel's face that the Boss hasn't seen before, and the light bouncing off his eyes makes it look as if they're glowing. It reminds them of those bubbling, golden pools they keep seeing in their dreams, radiating heat and drawing them in and away from Johnny's lingering ghost.  
     "Are you okay?" he asks again. The Boss wants to avoid the question, but something inside them deflates, and their shoulders drop a little.  
     "I feel like I'm failing," they say. They move away from him to sit down on an old, rusted weight bench and cup their head in their hands.  
     "You've done more damage to the Syndicate than anyone else ever has," Angel says. "That's not something to take lightly."  
     "And what good did it do?!" They're raising their voice again, head shooting up to glare at Angel. "Killbane took over! The Morningstar are still around, they just answer to a different jackass in a shitty suit. Matt Miller is a fucking kid and he's still getting the drop on me, and every time I think we've got the Luchadores in a vice they wiggle out of it, _and_ I still have STAG to contend with. And you wanna know what the real kicker to this giant shit storm is?"  
     There's a moment of silence before Angel responds, "what?"  
     "This is all happening because I wanted to rob a fucking bank." The Boss snorts, shaking their head and looking back down at their feet. "Johnny told me it was a stupid idea, it's not like we needed the money. The Saints had moved past that kind of petty shit, he told me, we were getting bigger than that. I didn't listen to him, I _never_ listened to him, and now look where I am..."  
     There's another pause and as the Boss just sits there with their head in their hands, Angel feels compelled to say _something_. He opens his mouth a couple times and stops before getting any words out, and it's then that he realizes just how bad at communicating his self-imposed exile has made him. His ability to talk to people, or attempt to comfort someone in a time of need is apparently yet another thing Killbane has taken from him.  
     "I...should fix your nose," is all he manages to get out. He leaves the Boss for a moment, disappearing into the back of the gym to look for a first aid kit. When he comes back, the Boss is still sitting on the bench in the same position as before, and he sets the kit down next to them and pops it open. Once again he gently tilts their head back with his fingers, and uses one hand to keep their head steady while he examines their face. He pulls their crooked sunglasses off and sets them on the bench and uses a clean gauze pad to mop up some of the blood on their face. He probes around the swelling with the tips of his fingers, ignoring the way the Boss hisses at it, and wipes the area with an alcohol swab.  
     "Well," he says, "it's not crooked, so that's good. If you keep it bandaged and iced it should heal on its own." The Boss shrugs.  
     "If it doesn't I'm sure Image As Designed can fix it," they say. "Hell, they practically rebuilt me after the explosion."  
     "What explosion?" he asks, quirking an eyebrow as he applies gauze and tape to their face.  
     "The...boat explosion?" The Boss blinks a few times. "You...don't know about that do you?"  
     "Nope."  
     "I mentioned being in a coma," they say.  
     "Yeah, but you didn't elaborate," he says.  
     "Angel, what _do_ you know about the Saints?" they ask.   
     "You originated in Stilwater, no one ever listens to Pierce, and you're really good at starting gang wars," he says. He applies the last of the bandages and steps back, reaching down to wipe his hands on the previously abandoned towel.  
     "So, you have no idea how I became the Boss? At all?"  
     "Does it matter?" The Boss opens their mouth to respond, and then stops.  
     "No, I guess it doesn't," they say. They stand up from the bench, picking up their sunglasses and fiddling with them until they can get them straight again. "Thanks for patching me up. I'm gonna go ahead and call it a day, if it's all the same to you."  
     "Sure," Angel says. "I don't want the Saints to get the wrong idea about how I'm training you."  
     "You put a tiger in my car, buddy," the Boss says, reaching out to clap him on the shoulder. "They already got the wrong idea." Angel blinks a few times in response, and the Boss just cracks a grin at him. Their sudden mood swing from a few minutes ago seems to have passed and he smiles just a little as they turn away and head to the garage.  
     "Oh!" they say, stopping and turning back around. "Pierce is throwing a party tonight, he says you have to come. Just in case you were thinking about not coming, or whatever. Be there, or he's liable to bring the party to you."  
     They disappear down the hall before he can respond, leaving him in the center of the gym with a couple cups of cold coffee and a pile of bloody bandages to clean up. 

 

     Angel's not sure what time Pierce started his party, but when he hits the penthouse at ten thirty that night, it's already well into swing. Music is blaring over the sound system, and the lights are dimmed low save for strobes and flashing colors bouncing off the walls. The Boss bleeding all over his jacket earlier that day made Angel throw a load of laundry together, and he spent some of the afternoon sitting at a laundromat near the gym. He took the opportunity to change into something else for once, sporting a pair of jeans and a tank top under his hoodie as well as nondescript pair of black boots. It still feels a tad weird, to dress up (for him, anyway) and go to a party. It's not something he's done much in the past stretch of his life, and he's starting to realize he'd almost forgotten what it was like to do _normal_ things.  
It's been dawning on him ever since he met the Saints that aside from everything Killbane took from him there's a lot he might as well have just _given_ away. Years of his life he's never going to get back spent locked away in a dying, dusty gym while the world continued to turn without him.  
     He's starting to wish he'd noticed it sooner. In retrospect, it seems... sad.  
     There's quite a crowed gathered in the penthouse, and he pushes the thoughts of Killbane and his past aside while he weaves through it. He finds Pierce out on the patio, seated in the Jacuzzi with a girl under each arm, and can't help but grin a little when Pierce offers a hand.  
     "My man!" he says. "I'm surprised you showed, I thought maybe with everything going on you'd stop coming to these little shindigs."  
     "I thought I could use some fresh air," Angel says. "The Boss said you threatened to come to me if I didn't show, too."  
     "The Boss is right, I would have," Pierce says. "I was gonna give it another hour and then roll up with some boomboxes and a flock of girls."  
     "Speaking of," Angel says, looking over his shoulder and scanning the party. "Where is the Boss? Not arguing with Shaundi again I hope."  
     "I dunno," Pierce says, giving a shrug of his shoulders. "They were hangin' out for a while, and then disappeared. I figured maybe they got a call from someone and went to deal with business, or maybe they're just hiding and chilling."  
     Angel leaves Pierce to enjoy his dip in the hot tub and makes his way to the bar and digs a beer out of a cooler full of ice. He continues searching the party for any sign of the Boss as he pops the cap off the bottle and takes a sip. When he can't find them on the patio he makes his way back inside and up the stairs to the second floor. One of the bedroom doors is shut and locked, but when he knocks he gets no response. He stands there for a minute, frowning and sipping on his beer before moving out to the second floor balcony. The door out there is unlocked, and he raps his knuckles against it while pushing it open.  
     "Jesus christ what the fuck don't you people get about a locked door and closed curtains?" the Boss asks, sitting up on a chair and looking over. They stop in the middle of getting up when they realize it's Angel, and slowly sink back down. He shuts the door behind him and leans against it.  
     "You don't feel like partying?" he asks.  
     "Not really," they say, stretching back out in the chair. "I'm just tired tonight."  
     "You feel like some company?" he asks, still standing by the door.  
     "Depends, you gonna break my nose again?" the Boss asks. When he doesn't respond, they look over their shoulder at him and grin, motioning for him to come in. He pushes away from the door and takes another swallow of beer, coming to sit down in the love seat next to their chair.  
     "I thought you'd be ready to relax after the week you've been having," he says.  
     "I am relaxing," they say. They raise their arm and shake a bottle of vodka at him before taking a sip directly from it.  
     "Drinking alone with the shades drawn isn't exactly relaxing," he says. "Trust me on that one."  
     "Serves its purposes though, doesn't it?"  
     "Not really, no." The Boss rolls their eyes at him and sits up again, reaching for a glass sitting on the coffee table and pouring a drink. They set the bottle down and relax back into the chair with the glass.  
     "You come here just to lecture me?" They knock back half the glass, and Angel sets his beer down on the table next to the vodka. He eyes the bottle for a second, noticing how empty it is.  
     "No," he says. "I came to see how you were doing."  
     "The hell does that mean?" The Boss furrows their eyebrows. "I'm fine."  
     "That's not what you were saying this morning." The Boss goes silent at that and turns their attention away from him. They down the rest of their drink and lean forward to pour another, wrapping their hand around the neck of the bottle, and Angel's hand clamps down over theirs. They stare at the bottle for a long moment, feeling his eyes on them and wishing he'd find something else to look at, before finally lifting their gaze to him. Neither one of them say anything for a tense moment, until finally the Boss unclenches their fingers from the bottle. Angel lets them go and they make a show of setting the glass down and raising their hands as they lean back in the chair.  
     "I swear to god, if this is about Murderbrawl agai-"  
     "It's not about fucking Murderbrawl," he says.  
     "Then what _is_ it about?"  
     Angel's words catch in his throat again, and he looks away from them, turning his eyes to the table in front of him. He picks up his beer and finishes the last of it and sets the empty bottle back down. He's tapping his foot on the floor a little bit, working his jaw and trying to figure out what to say or how to say it, but nothing's coming. He rubs the back of his neck and then sighs and gets to his feet.  
     "Nothing," he says. "Forget it, don't worry about it."  
     The Boss turns around in the chair, frowning at him as he heads for the door.  
     "Angel, wait a minute," they say, getting up. "What the hell is wrong with you all of a sudden?"  
     "It's not what's wrong with _me_ ," he says, stopping. The Boss takes a few steps forward and pauses, leaving the width of the bed between the two of them.  
     "You're obviously stressed," he says. "There's a lot riding on you, carrying the burden of the Saints on your own can't be easy, especially in the wake of Johnny's death."  
     "No offense but you're not saying anything I haven't already told you," the Boss says, crossing their arms over their chest. "And it's...I suppose it's nothing I haven't dealt with before. I mean, I normally do have Johnny as my right hand dealing with this kinda shit, but taking a city for the Saints and destroying other gangs in the process is pretty much a regular thing for me."  
     They sit down on the foot of the bed as they talk.  
     "STAG's throwing a monkey wrench into things, but I figure we'll get to them when we get to them, they showed up late to this fucked up party so they can wait their turn."  
     "How long do you think you can keep this up with no sleep?" Angel asks. "I broke your nose today because you were so tired you weren't paying attention, what happens if it's someone in red, or blue, or green going against you? It could be more than just a broken nose."  
     "It's not like I'm willingly not sleeping, Angel," they say. "I try. I'd literally kill someone tonight if it meant I'd get a good twelve hours of rest, but I _can't_."  
     "Why not?"  
     The Boss fidgets and doesn't respond. Angel rounds the foot of the bed and sits down next to them, but says nothing else. They both just sit there for the longest time, the Boss looking down at their hands and Angel looking down at them while the party outside continues and the bass from the penthouses speakers vibrate through the walls.  
     "I keep...having these dreams," the Boss finally says.  
     "What about?"  
     "...Johnny," they say. "Carlos, Lin. People that have died because of decisions I've made, orders I've given. Johnny and I had been butting heads for a while before we hit the Morningstar bank, we'd had a fight the night before about the direction I was taking the Saints. He thought I wasn't focusing on the right things, that I'd forgotten our roots. Where we came from, what we had to do to get where we are now. He was starting to question why he was even sticking around and fighting for something he didn't believe in any more, and I marched him right into that bank anyway.  
     "He blames me. In the dreams, I mean. They all do, because all I ever did was take from people until there was nothing left. Hell, Johnny's face is still plastered all over this goddamn city, and I suppose in a way I'm _still_ taking whatever I can get from him."  
     The Boss stops talking, leaning forward and burying their face in their hands.  
     "I don't know where it went wrong between us," they say. There's something cracking in their voice, and they hope it can just be blamed on the vodka. "I wonder sometimes if he died hating me. Like his last thoughts were that he wouldn't have been there if it weren't for me, like he could've--"  
     Their voice breaks entirely, and they can't hold back a choked cry. Angel puts an arm around them and pulls them to lean on his shoulder, and they just don't have the energy or strength to resist.  
     "Johnny didn't hate you," he says.  
     "You never even met him," the Boss mumbles into the crook of his neck.  
     "No," he says, "but I know a few things about when someone hates another person. They don't willingly put themselves in danger for the person they supposedly hate. Johnny didn't hate you, and he didn't die hating you, and you have to believe that."  
     The Boss says nothing and for a while the two of them sit there in silence. It feels like it's been ages since the Boss has had time to just sit and relax, and be able to take comfort in someone else's presence. Johnny was the only one who ever got to see their softer side, the only one who'd curl up with them at the end of a long day and just let them be _weak_. Without him, they've felt like they had to keep up the image of strength to keep the rest of the gang going. Pierce has been trying to deal with Johnny's death in his own way, by celebrating his friend's life and living the one he knows Johnny would want. Shaundi is drowning in the weight of her own misplaced guilt and lashing out at the others, and the Boss feels like if they let down their guard and let their own emotions seep through it'll just make it harder for the others to cope.  
     "You should try and sleep," Angel says finally, pulling away and standing up.  
     "It's not even midnight," the Boss says, glancing over at the clock on the night stand. They run a hand over their face, glancing back at him and once again it's like a flip has been switched as their mood changes and they grin at him. "We could have a couple drinks, see where the night goes."  
     Angel quirks an eyebrow at that.  
     "I'm starting to think this was all just a ruse to get me into bed," he says. The Boss looks up at him and continues grinning.  
     "What if it was?" they ask, reaching out to put their hands on his waist. They give a playful tug, pulling Angel closer back to the bed. He puts his hands over theirs and very carefully, but firmly, peels them away from his hips.  
     "You're drunk," he says. "And vulnerable, and I'm not that kind of guy." The Boss blinks a few times and then reluctantly drops their hands away from his.  
     "Yeah...yeah you're right," they say. "It's just..."  
     "Just what?" Angel asks. The Boss says nothing for a moment, and then they give a shrug of their shoulders before finally speaking.  
     "It's just weird, but I... I'm kind of _lonely_ or something," they say. Their voice is soft, barely above a whisper and it makes Angel wonder how much of this admission is being given because of the alcohol.  
     "There's a party going on outside," he says, glancing at the door. "Parties are usually good for that kind of thing."  
     "It's not the same anymore," they say. "I know Pierce is having a good time, and I don't mind him throwing them but somehow it all feels hollow. It's not the same without Johnny."  
     Whatever composure the Boss had regained slips again and this time they can't stop the tears. It's been weeks and weeks since his death, and all this time they've been pushing the feelings about it away. They kept thinking if they just ignored it and focused on work that it'd all go away eventually, but all that seems to have done is made it far worse. Johnny's been occupying their waking thoughts and haunting their dreams, and every time they look up or turn around there's another billboard with his face on it.  
     It's like the universe is trying to remind them they can't run from their failures. They never could, and they're never going to be able to.  
Angel mumbles something in Spanish and puts his arms around them, leaning into the edge of the bed and letting the Boss press their face into his chest. They return the gesture, wrapping their arms around his torso and clutching fistfuls of his hoodie.  
     "You didn't sign up for this shit," they say, choking the words out.  
     "Technically I didn't sign anything," he says. "You can't bottle this stuff up like you've been doing, because this is what happens. It's affecting your ability to function on basic levels, and that's the kind of thing that gets you killed. I don't think Johnny would be happy to know you just let yourself waste away without him, would he?"  
     "No."  
     Angel runs his hand over their back, resting his chin on the top of their head and letting them sit and cling to him for as long as they need to. After a while they pull away and wipe at their eyes with their hands.  
     "Helluva party, huh?" they ask. Angel smiles a little and steps around the side of the bed, reaching for a box of tissues sitting on the night stand and passing it to them.  
     "Just because you're the Boss doesn't mean you're not allowed to feel things," he says, sitting down next to them again. "You've gotta release it every now and then. There's nothing _wrong_ with that. You're still human, and sometimes we have to let our emotions get the better of us." He thinks back to the condition of his gym when he says that. The torn up posters, the broken equipment, some well places holes in the walls that hadn't always been there. Long standing remnants of the state of mind he was in after his loss to Killbane.  
     "The Saints can't see me like this," the Boss says softly. "Power is what people like us understand, it's what people respect."  
     "Well clearly you're having trouble handling it alone," Angel says. The Boss gives him a small, sad smile.  
     "I guess I'll have to figure it out," they say. "Maybe I was a little more dependent on Johnny than I thought." Angel opens his mouth to respond, and then seems to think better of it and stops. He does this a couple more times, becoming suddenly fidgety.  
     "You know..." he finally says, lowly. "You don't _have_ to bear this alone."  
     "If I break down like this in front of the rest of the crew there's gonna be a mutiny," the Boss says.  
     "I wasn't talking about the rest of the crew," he says. The Boss frowns, looking over at him.  
     "What _are_ you talking about, then?" they ask. "If you're about to suggest I get a shrink I gotta tell ya that's never worked out well in the past."  
     "I meant me," he says. "You've done a lot for me since you recruited me, and you didn't _have_ to agree to go after Killbane in the way I want to, but you did anyway. I owe you."  
     "Angel, you don't owe me anything," they say. "I hired you to do a job and you've been doing it, and in return I've done you some favors. That's how this kinda shit works."  
     "You know, I'm trying to be your _friend_ here," he says. "And you're making this really difficult to do." The Boss grins at that and pulls another tissue from the box.   
     "I appreciate it, I do," they say, pausing to blow their nose. "I'm...sorry about all this, but really you don't need to deal with all this drama."  
     "What if I want to?"  
     That seems to startle the Boss into silence and when Angel looks over at them he finds they're staring at him with wide, red-rimmed eyes.  
"I, uh..." they fumble for words, looking down at their hands and fiddling with the tissue they're holding. "Thanks. I'll keep that in mind." Angel says nothing in return, and silence falls around them once more until he gets back to his feet.  
     "You need to sleep this off," he says. The Boss just nods at him, letting out a long sigh and laying back on the bed.  
     "Yeah," they say. Angel takes his leave, exiting the door leading to the balcony and weaving his way back into the crowd of partiers. Pierce has left the hot tub and is no where to be found, and he can only assume the man's off somewhere with the company he was keeping earlier. He makes a quick exit from the crib and takes the short drive across the freeway and back into Bridgeport, pulling the SUV into the garage of the gym. He makes his way up the steps and down the hall and immediately grabs a beer out of the fridge before plopping down in the old, beat up chair sitting in front of the TV. He leans back in the chair, tilting his head up and staring at the dusty, cracked ceiling.  
  
  


     Back at the Saints crib, the Boss finally manages to bury themself under the bed covers. The amount of alcohol in their system eventually takes hold and for the first time since that ride on Phillipe Loren's plane, they fall into an empty, dreamless sleep.   
     The rest is short lived, and they find themself jerking awake for no discernible reason just after daybreak. There's a headache pounding at their temples, and a stiffness to their spine that has them groaning when they sit up. It takes them a few minutes to drag themself out of bed, and the first thing they do is pick up the vodka bottle on the table and examine the dregs of it, groaning again when they realize just how much they drank the night before. This is gonna be one nasty hangover to deal with, and they rifle through their medicine chest and pop a couple of Advil. The empty beer bottle sitting next to the vodka catches their attention when they exit the bathroom, and it reminds them that Angel had stopped by during the party.  
     They remember him coming in, and they remember talking to him, but after that everything is a blur and they can't pin down _exactly_ what happened while he was around. That sets an uneasy feeling in the pit of their stomach.   
     The Boss gets dressed and sneaks out of the penthouse before anyone else is up, and they're mildly surprised to find there's no outstanding voice mails or text messages waiting on them when they check their phone.  
     There's an alarm clock going off at Angel's when they hit the bottom of the stairs, and they round the corner at the end of the hall just in time to watch him fumble to turn it off and roll back over in bed.  
     "Must've been a good party if you're sleeping in," they say. Angel groans a little and rolls back over, blinking sleep from his eyes as he sits up.  
     "What're you doing here?" he asks.  
     "Woke up early," they say, sitting down in his chair. "Wanted to see if you were as hungover as I am." Angel grunts in response, reaching up to rub at his eyes and the Boss grins a little.  
     "Worse, probably," he says through his fingers.  
     "Also I uh, wanted to apologize, maybe..."  
     "What for?" Angel furrows his brows, dropping his hands and looking over at them.  
     "I was _really_ wasted last night," they say. "I don't exactly know what I might have said, or uh...what might have happened when you stopped by."   
     "We just talked," he says. "Nothing happened, if that's what you're worried about."  
     "Oh," they say, scratching the back of their head. "I almost feel like that's worse, honestly."  
     "You were...upset about Johnny," he says.  
     "I was right, that _is_ worse." Angel snorts at that and pushes the sheets off of him, standing up and stretching.   
     "Not really," he says. "You can't keep bottling up your feelings."  
     "I sure as shit can," the Boss responds.  
     "And then what?" Angel asks. "Keep locking yourself in your room and drinking yourself into drunken stupors? That never ends well."  
     "Well it's gonna have to do," they say. "Look I just...wanted to make sure I didn't really embarrass myself or something, is all." They stand from the chair and turn towards the hallway.  
     "You didn't," Angel says. "If anything I think it would do you some good to open up more often."  
     "I don't really have that option," they say. "I feel like we keep having this same conversation over and over, don't you?"  
     "Do you push everyone away that tries to help you?" Angel asks, narrowing his eyes. "Or just me?" The Boss stops, turning back around to face him.  
     "Excuse me?" they ask. Angel raises his hands in exasperation and promptly drops them back down by his sides.  
     "I'm trying to help you here," he says. "I _want_ to help you, and I feel like you're just slapping my hand away and ignoring it." The Boss lets out an annoyed sigh, shoulders sagging as they take a few steps back over to him.  
     “Angel look, it's...it's not _you_ ,” they say.  
     “It's you?” he asks flatly, raising an eyebrow.  
     “It's...Johnny, actually,” they say, their voice falling. “You don't understand what we were _like_ together. I was closer to Johnny than I ever was with  _anyone_ else in my life. The kind of bond we had isn't something that just  _happens_ by chance, and it's not something you can just  _force_ . My relationship with Johnny was built on us meeting at what was simultaneously a bad  _and_ good time for me. I wasn't in a good place when I crossed paths with the Saints, and finding them, finding Johnny was like finding the family I never had. Johnny was there for me from the start, and I looked up to him  _a lot._ ”   
The Boss stops and sinks down into Angel's beat up chair, resting their arms on their knees and staring down at the floor.  
     “I used to think Johnny was invincible,” they say. “Like nothing in the world could kill him. It seemed like no matter what he'd always get back up, he'd always come _back_ to me. I still wake up some mornings and expect to find him there with me.”   
     The Boss turns their gaze upwards, looking at Angel as they continue.  
     “I have a measure of responsibility in Johnny's death,” they say. “It was my call, my order, and it ended with three of us walking _onto_ that plane, and two of us walking  _out_ . Ever since I took over the Saints I knew these kind of things were going to happen. Part of leading this gang is giving my all for them, and what parts of myself I didn't give to the Saints, I gave to Johnny, and he took those  _with him_ when he  _died_ .”  
     They can feel fresh tears welling up in their eyes, and they blink a few times in an attempt to wash them away. There's a burning sensation in the back of their throat, and the taste of bile rising up from their stomach.   
     “I don't have anything left to give to anyone else,” they say. Angel steps forward and squats down in front of them, reaching out to take one of their hands in his, and cupping their chin with the other one.  
     “I think that's the problem,” he says. “Maybe you need to let someone else do the giving for once.” The Boss snorts at that and smiles a little.   
     “You're sweet,” they say.  
     “Well,” Angel says, “not really. But I have my moments.”   
     He decides then to throw caution to the wind and leans forward, brushing his lips against the Boss's and moving his hand from their chin to rest against their neck. The Boss seems to freeze for a moment, and just when Angel is about to stop and pull away they snake an arm around him and tug him closer, leaning back into the chair and pulling him partially up into their lap. He braces himself with one hand on the arm of the chair and his good knee resting on the seat cushion between their thighs.   
     What starts out as light and almost hesitant quickly snowballs into something more aggressive. Hands begin to wander and grope, and Angel's leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses along the Boss's jawline as their breath hitches slightly. He moves down lower, nipping at their neck while unzipping their jacket and slipping a hand under their shirt. The Boss goes to unbuckle their own pants, tilting their head back against the chair as Angel runs his tongue along their collarbone. He's just sliding a few fingers below the waistband of their jeans when their phone starts ringing, and everything grinds to a dead stop.   
     Angel leans back, looking down at their pocket and listening to the phone ring. The Boss groans and finally reaches for it, and Angel reluctantly pulls his hands away from them and stands up.  
     “What's up?” they ask, sitting up in the chair with the phone to their ear and pulling their shirt back down with their free hand. They listen to the person on the phone and furrow their eyebrows, standing up to buckle their jeans and zip their jacket. “Yeah, okay, I'll be right there. Hang tight.”   
     “What's wrong?” Angel asks as they slip their phone back into their pocket.   
     “Deckers are raiding some sort of building Kinzie keeps computer shit in,” they say. “Mainframes and some data, stuff like that. Apparently she put it 'off site' from her warehouse to keep it  _safer_ , and now that's backfiring.”   
     “Want some help?” he asks. The Boss shrugs.  
     “Sure, why not. You in the mood to shoot something?” Angel smirks at them a little and reaches down to grab his hoodie off the floor.   
     “I am  _now_ ,” he says. 

 


End file.
